Now, Voyager
by angelaumbrello
Summary: They're not wholly human; they're super-soldiers, bred to fight, to defend, to kill. But even the most hardened warrior sometimes wishes for simple things.
1. Chapter 1

**Now, Voyager.**

**A/N: This story was written without the benefit of beta. Please forgive any mistakes that may have occurred. **

**Disclaimer: The characters in this story are copyrighted and are being used without the owners express permission. No profit is being made from this story and is being written purely for entertainment purposes.**

**Summary: They're not wholly human; they're super-soldiers, bred for one thing and that is to fight, to defend, to kill. But even the most hardened warrior sometimes wishes for simple things. **

"_**Oh, Jerry, don't let's ask for the moon. We have the stars." Bette Davis, Now Voyager,**_

Dressed in casual, civilian clothing, Steve leaned back on the park bench next to his partner, Natasha. His posture was relaxed, his arms crossed over his chest, a baseball pulled low to make it seem as if he were simply relaxing. But his eyes and ears were on high alert, their target should be showing up soon, and neither Avenger wanted to be caught flat-footed.

It was a bright, and sunny day with a gentle breeze that carried the faint scent of roses. The humidity, and temperature had finally dropped to something that was bearable. But despite that, there was only one family in the park. A young couple with a small child, no older than five, was playing catch some 30 feet to the super soldier's left. Even from his spot, he could tell they were happy, eyes alighted with genuine joy at such a seemingly simple activity.

A sad smile spread across Steve's face at the scene. He doesn't regret any of the decisions that led him to being a super soldier, and the first Avenger. But he was still human, there were times he couldn't help but think of all that he had been forced to sacrifice, and wonder at what he was missing. All the normal things that the rest of the world seemed to take for granted would always be just beyond his fingertips.

With a small shake of his head he turned to his partner, her face was its usual neutral expression. The red-head's eyes were constantly roving, and the tension in her body reminded him of a bowstring being pulled taunt. She could play any part necessary to carry out a mission, but there were times when her training, beaten into her since she was a child, shone through in her stance and the cold, hard lines of her mouth and eyes.

She caught his gaze out of the corner of her eye.

"Something the matter?"

He started to shake his head, to say there was nothing the matter, but then he stopped himself, and uncrossed his arms so he could pull his cap back a little. "Have you...have you ever thought about marriage? Children?" he asked, shyly. He realized his line of questioning was inappropriate, not to mention he was just opening himself for a lot of teasing. But he was curious, and it seemed out of all the Avengers, her situation was the closest to his own.

"You mean the house in the suburbs? The white picket fence? Maybe even a dog or two?"

"Yeah, something like that."

"No." she said. Turning so she was fully facing Steve she quirked an eyebrow at him. "What brought that on?"

The blond man pointed his chin towards the family and watched as understanding dawned upon her after a few moments of observation. Pulling her attention away, she sat back against the bench and stared straight ahead trying to affect a nonchalant attitude. She failed, there was a tension in her jaw and her eyes narrowed slightly as if trying to keep away unwanted thoughts.

"Never?" he asked, a note of disbelief evident in his voice.

"Never. I don't let myself think of things like that. It's a waste of time. I'm a soldier, it's what I was born to be, and it's what I'll die as." Her voice gets softer, and Steve has to strain to hear the rest of her words. "There will be no husband, or children mourning at my funeral, only an unmarked grave in some god-forsaken country – if I'm lucky."

He stared at Natasha in shock, and fought the urge to grab her by the shoulders to shake some sense into her. "That is incredibly morbid. Do you really think about yourself in that way? That you are nothing more than a weapon? That you wouldn't be missed? I would miss you. I would bring your body home, and give it a proper burial."

"Now who's being morbid?" she asked with a forced laugh. She didn't need to look at him to know that he was telling the truth, she could hear it plainly. But she spared a glance, and for a moment she had trouble breathing. His open honesty, and sincerity was raw, and palatable. She quickly turned away. "It was the way I brought up, to not think of myself as human, or an individual. I guess old habits really do die hard."

It's what they had told her when she was young, and was nothing more than a number, and a code name.

You are not human.

You have no family, no friends.

You are a weapon of the state, by the state, and for the state. You exist at the suffrage of the state, and will kill at the behest/benefit of the the state.

You live to serve the state, and when your service is done, there is only death.

After hearing those words, or some variation, for almost all her life, it's difficult to believe anything else. But despite what they drilled into her head, she could easily see Steve, dressed in his red, white and blues carrying her body across enemy lines just so she could have a proper burial. She could see him standing over her grave looking grim and sad, because to him she was a fellow human being, a teammate, a friend, not some hallow creature who can kill as easily as breathe.

She shakes her head to rid herself of those thoughts. She was free now, free of the red-room, free of their brainwashing and mind-conditioning. She was her own person with more friends than she ever thought possible.

"What about you?" she asked drawing attention from her situation. "Have you ever thought about the whole...family thing?"

"No," he said. The lie quite obvious.

"Really? Never?"

Steve turned away embarrassed at having been called out so easily. "Not never," he admitted. He turns back to her, and his eyes are alighted with something akin to resignation. He may have been slightly more naive, slightly less cynical than Natasha, but he knew the near impossibility of having a normal life. The moment those needles went into his body was the day he became something more/less than human.

He looks down at his hands for moment. They're strong hands now, filled with blood, and muscles, and vitality. They can harm as easily as comfort, kill as easily as save.

He looks up, catches Natasha's worried gaze in his own, and gives what he hopes is a reassuring smile. "I know what you're thinking, it's stupid of me to think of things like that. But sometimes, sometimes I get so tired of fighting so that everyone else can go about their lives unaffected. All I want sometimes is to go home, curl on the couch with...someone, anyone and watch old movies. I just want someone who is mine."

To watch old movies with, she repeats to herself. She wants to scoff at him, scoff at his childish sentimentality, his desire for anything remotely resembling a normal life. But she can't quite bring herself to do it, because there are times when she has secretly wished for the exact same thing.

"It's not stupid," she says sympathetically.

If things had been different, the fates had been kinder, he wouldn't have have had to settle for scraps of normality. He would have been able to have it all. Steve would have made an excellent father, and a faithful husband. She could see him doddering after a couple of little ones, a nondescript female in the background smiling benevolently.

She could also see him scaring the crap out of any possible suitors to his daughters.

Natasha lets out a light chuckle.

"What?"

"I was thinking of you as a father coming to the door in your Captain America uniform and scaring some poor boy enough to make him piss his pants."

Steve snorted. "And what about you? I imagine a room in a basement with a single light bulb swinging back and forth as you interrogate the poor kid."

A ripple of laughter flowed through them, and then after a few moments it slowly died.

Natasha sighed in resignation, and returned to her surveillance, as did Steve. The conversation was a nice divergence, but in the end thinking of what might have been was futile.

"I can't have children, the serum they gave me..." she blurted out, and immediately regretted it. She didn't understand why she felt the need to share something that personal, something she hadn't even told Clint.

"Are you sure? _Nothing_ can be done?"

Natasha gave a bitter laugh. "Not a damn thing, but it's better this way. Children are for normal people."

Speechless, Steve reached across the bench and took her hand in to his. This was twice in less than 10 minutes that she had managed to shock him silent. He had no idea why she was sharing such personal details, she had never done so in the past. She always sat quietly in the background, her expression enigmatic, and closed.

He was glad, proud even, not at what she had confessed, but by the fact that she had allowed him a small glimpse in to her personal life. How much conditioning must she be bucking in order to even share this little bit with him?

And then a second thought came to him unbidden.

She _had_ lied to him. She had thought of starting a family. Which means there was someone out there who had managed to turn the Black Widow's black heart red with life and love. He wondered what happened to the man who was able to do this.

He wanted to say sorry, but he knew immediately that that was a lame response, and that she would smack him upside the head for even thinking it, so he just squeezed her hand.

"Don't -" she started.

"I won't," he finished. It will be our secret, he thought.

"So, old movies, huh?" she asked after several moments of heavy silence.

Steve nods, and chuckles. "There are some good modern movies, I really like how the special effects have evolved, but some of them are a little...too...intense for my liking. Besides, they're classics for a reason, right?"

"Right," Natasha said in quiet a tone. "You know, I can't offer to curl up on the couch with you, but there's a Bette Davis movie marathon on tonight. You're more than welcome to come over and watch with me."

"Pizza?"

"Pepperoni."

"Alcohol?" 

"Taken care of."

"I'm there."

Good, she says to herself and allows the corners of her lips to curl slightly.

It's dangerous to trust people, she was taught. They'll betray you you, make you weak. But she's tired of listening to those voices, they're ugly, and old, and reek of loneliness.

Having friends, people to watch her back, and a place to belong wasn't such a bad thing – motley crew though they were.

Natasha squeezed Steve's hand, and didn't let go until the target arrived.

THE END.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: North by Northwest.**

**A/N: Okay shoot me, I lied. It was going to be a one-shot, but my dumb brain wouldn't let it go, so now your getting a whole story – ain't you lucky. **

**Reviews/favorites/follows are all accepted and appreciated.**

**Chapter 2 takes place approximately 2 months after chapter 1.**

"**War is hell, Mr. Thornhill. Even when it's a cold one." (Leo G. Carroll North by Northwest.)**

_Last night, Natasha dreamt . . . ._

_She dreamt of a young girl alone in a room the color wine. _

_She was clothed in a mint sundress. She was small, and thin with knobby knees and elbows, and large knowing green eyes. She was covered in the blood of the people she had killed, it stained her face and arms crimson, permanently dyed her hair red. _

_Her back was straight, her shoulders squared. She had been in this room her whole life it seemed, staring into the endless sea of redness, waiting for someone, though she didn't know who. _

_A sickly boy with sandy-blond hair, and sky-blue eyes stepped out of nowhere, and took her hand, kissing it gently. He was not afraid of the blood that stained her hand, that now stained his lips. _

"_Come with me," he implored. "Together we will be stronger. Together we will kill all the monsters."_

_She griped his hand tightly, and they ran. She heard familiar voices in the distance demanding her return. She tightened her grip, and picked up her pace, and the world turned light._

_She never wanted to let go of the boy's hand._

_~000~_

It was a two day drive over the Canadian border to where her friend (or at least as close to a friend as someone like her could have) lived. Too long of a trip for a motorcycle, they could easily have flown first class in one of Tony's private planes, but Natasha and Steve decided on a whim against it. A road trip away from the others had a certain appeal to it, and they certainly had enough vacation time racked up between them to cover the extra travel time.

The road was long, and straight, and nearly empty. Natasha's mind wondered to that odd dream, to that boy and girl, to the voices that even now chattered in the back of her mind, reminding her she was their property, their pretty little weapon.

The redhead gave a slight, almost imperceptible shake of her head to clear it. She then gave a sidelong glance to her partner on this trip. Steve was reclining slightly in the passenger seat, his eyes were closed, and a smile played at the corners of his mouth. He was dressed in what Tony often referred to as his 'old man clothes', a plaid shirt with sleeves pushed up, white t-shirt peeking through the top, and vintage indigo jeans. His only concession to modern times was a digital watch, and brand new black and white sneakers.

His arm was on the arm rest, and for a brief moment she was tempted to take his hand and hold it tight.

She shook her head again, this time with a little more vigor, frustrated with the turn her thoughts had momentarily taken. These men, and their women, were making her soft. And there was a part of her, the apathetic Black Widow who was created through torture, and anger, and hatred who just wanted to push them all away, especially Steve, whom she felt was getting dangerously close to her. And then there was Natasha, who despite everything wanted something more than death, and war.

She grabbed his hand, and held it tightly, willing the Widow back into its cave.

Waking with a start, the blond stared at their joined hands, and noticed her white-knuckled grip. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and gave her a concerned look.

"Are you okay?" he asked. Had he been normal, his hand would have surely been severely bruised. Fortunately he wasn't, so her grip was more an emotional concern, than physical pain.

"I'm fine," she said. "Can't a girl hold your hand without you thinking something is wrong?"

"Of course, she can" he said. Idly he rubbed circles onto the back of her hand with his thumb. He let the matter go for the moment. "Are we almost there?"

"Yes, just another couple of hours," she said, glad for the topic change. She glanced at him. "You didn't have to come with me, you know."

"I know. But I wanted to come with you. I like spending time with you, but you do know Tony is going to give us hell the next time he sees us?"

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Don't remind me. He wants to know whether I've deflowered you yet."

It was Steve's turn to roll his eyes. "Geez, that guy has no tact," he muttered. "And why does everyone assume I'm a virgin? I was on the road with a lot of beautiful, and willing women before I started fighting. And even then I had plenty of opportunities."

The redhead quirked an eyebrow at him, and chuckled at his exasperation. "First, Peggy would have shot the women in the face, and you in the balls, and secondly, that's just not you. You're not a player, you're a one woman man, and whom ever gets you is going to be very lucky."

The blond man sighed deeply, and looked out the passenger window.

"Hey," Natasha said. She tugged at his hand to get his attention. "There's nothing wrong with that."

"Is there?" he asked archly. "It seems that nowadays if you haven't had multiple partners, than something must be wrong with _you_. You're either closeted or repressed," he said with a sigh.. "I just think that sex should mean _something_."

"Yeah, it should," Natasha said quietly. For a brief moment she saw herself as a 10-year-old. She had yet to bud into a young woman, but already her handlers from the red room were teaching her how to seduce, and beguile a target.

"Natasha, are you okay?" he looked down at their joined hands and saw that once again her knuckles were white from the pressure she was using.

"Are you – are you having some kind of flashback? Should I drive the rest of the way?"

"No. It's nothing; I'm fine," she replied. She pulled her hand away, and took hold of the steering wheel, made a show of showing him how well her attention was on the road. And maybe she would have fooled someone else, or at least intimidated someone else into thinking she was telling the truth, but Steve wasn't fooled or intimidated. He insisted they pull over into the next rest stop, and she reluctantly agreed.

With the engine off, Steve unbuckled his seat-belt and then her's, he then captured her face between his hands and pulled it so that they were eye-to-eye. His hands are strong and warm, and she resisted the urge to lean into them.

"Talk to me, Tasha. I thought we had something growing between the two of us, now it feels like you're pushing me away."

The redhead closed her eyes almost as if in defeat.

"Look at me," Steve ordered. "Talk to me."

Her eyes snapped open. "I don't know what's the matter with me," she said with a sigh. "And I don't like it. I don't like not knowing what's going on with my own head. I had enough of that shit with the red room. I don't need it here."

Steve frowned. Always the red room, he thought. He wished he could burn the place down and kill everyone of her handlers with his bare hands for what they did Natasha. The hell they had put her through will always hang around her neck like an albatross.

"I can still hear their voices, like chattering crickets in the back of my head telling me I belong to them, that I'm not human."

"Have you thought about speaking to someone?"

"I'm speaking to you, aren't I?"

"I mean professionally."

"I know what you mean. I don't want to speak to some shrink, I don't trust them to not go running to Fury. I trust _you_, believe it or not. Why else would I be dragging you out into the middle of freaking Canada?"

Steve laughed softly, and lets go of her face. He rested his head against her shoulder, and she mirrored his actions. their arms wrapped around each other, forming an oddly colored cocoon, his dark colored clothing contrasting with her pale green sundress. They breathed deeply, their enhanced sense of smell taking in each, and every nuance of the other.

She slipped a deceptively thin, delicate hand up along along his arm and underneath his shirt where she traced barely noticeable childhood scars along his shoulder blade.

"I got beat up a lot as a kid," he said by way of explanation. "Some where more enthusiastic than others."

"Kids," she said, her voice little more than a growl.

"Yeah, kids," he agreed. Not that adults could be any better, as evidence by Natasha's own upbringing. Silence fell upon them after that, and stayed for several minutes. "Why me? Out of all the people you could bring with you, why me?"

With a sigh, the redhead pulled away; Steve thought he had angered her. She regained her composure and buckled her seat belt. It was nearly a minute before she answered. "I told you, I trust you. But there's more to it than that."

Steve stared intently at his companion. He knew what she was saying was taking a great deal of courage, and he was not about to interrupt her.

"I like you, Steve," and there's a note of disbelief in her voice. "You're a good man, a good soldier, a good everything. I would follow you to the gates of hell, and then right through them to the other side."

Her hands gripped the wheel tightly, and the blond male was surprised she hadn't warped the steering wheel. "It's been a long time since I let anyone in, trusted anyone to see anything but the Black Widow, but for some reason I want that person to be you."

Steve blinked in surprise, and then smiled. "I like you too Natasha." He pried her fingers from the the wheel, and massaged them to allow circulation to flow. He kissed each finger, and then each palm and then finally her lips. He knew this was a bold move, and that the redhead could easily punch him in the face, but she didn't. Instead she leaned into the kiss, ran her hands through his hair as she deepened it, and allowed him to take the lead for a few moments.

The car was quickly filled with soft moans as the two super-soldiers, able to go without breathing for several minutes, kissed deeply, and without reserve. They took turns exploring the other's mouth, and their hands roamed through hair, and over what little bare skin there was. Natasha wasn't sure if she should damn the seat belt for keeping her from jumping on top of Steve's lap, or be glad for the restraint.

It was only with supreme willpower that the two were able to pull apart. They were panting lightly, their lips were kiss-swollen, their pupils dilated, their hair mussed. "We better get going," Natasha said while stroking his face with a shaky hand.

"Right," Steve said with a great deal of reluctance, his body quivering slightly. He ignored, as best he could, the growing pressure in his pants, the scent of her pheromones that in such a confined space, and with his sensitive nose was overpowering. He opened the window and breathed deeply. After a few minutes, he buckled his seat belt before returning his arm to the armrest, but refused to look the redhead in the eyes.

"Steve," she said, trying to get his attention. "Steve? Do you really want your first time to be in the front seat of Tony's car?"

"No. I'm sorry, I just can't look at you right now. You're too beautiful. And I want to do this right."

"Sex should mean something, right?"

"Right. When we get back I want to take you out on actual dates, like normal people."

She wanted to remind him that they were not normal, nor have they been for a great many years. Instead she grabbed his hand, and held it, not in a death grip, but tightly and lovingly. "I would love to go on dates with you." There was a genuine smile on her face as she turned the ignition, and led them back on to the road.

_She never wanted to let go of the boy's hand._


End file.
